


Anchor Me

by popkin16



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Collection: Fandom Stocking 2014, Comment Fic, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popkin16/pseuds/popkin16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All practitioners of magic need a proper Anchor. Rodney's just met his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tarlan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/gifts).



> Looked over by [Kidenagain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kidenagain), who has my gratitude! Written for the 2014 Fandom Stocking. I originally wanted to edit this, maybe add more scenes, but it's been sitting unposted for too long.

Rodney can feel Jennifer’s grip on him slipping. Not her physical grip, of course - her hand clutches his as firmly as it did when they began. But the part of him that channels and directs magic, the part of him that needs someone to keep him grounded in reality, has less and less contact with Jennifer’s. The spell isn’t done yet, just a little bit more, and it is vital in the fight against the Wraith, against the dark magic that makes them real.

“Rodney,” Jennifer gasps, and her hand tightens painfully on his.

“Just a bit more,” Rodney grunts, teeth clenched, and focuses on directing the massive amount of magic he’s pulling from the magical plane. Rodney knows how dangerous this is. Magic leaks constantly from the ley lines and it’s enough for little spells and amulets, enough for everyday people to use on household chores. High level magic users, like Rodney, create and release complicated, powerful spells, and for that they must access the magical plane itself. But the work is dangerous: pulling the magic from the plane exposes you, makes the chances of you being pulled in even greater, and nobody has ever escaped alive.

“I can’t,” Jennifer cries, “I can’t hold him here. Please!”

The hum of magic grows louder. Rodney focuses on the threads of magic, on tying them together, arranging them exactly so, making sure there is no place for some of the magic to escape. There are just so many threads, all of them important, and Rodney can feel himself tiring. The magical plane is tugging on him persistently now, drawing him in. Still, he ignores Jennifer’s voice in his ear, the insistent tug on his hand, and continues.

His work is too important to stop now. This spell will save lives.

Just as he ties the last thread together, as the hum of magic becomes almost deafening, Jennifer slips away. Rodney had already ceased pulling from the other plane, but its grip on him had not yet lessened enough for him to escape. He’s slipping in, and humans weren’t meant to survive there. The magic pours into him, tears at him from the inside, and it hurts, Rodney knows he’s screaming, it hurts it hurts ithurtsithurtsithurts -

Someone grabs him. His magic reaches out wildly, wraps itself around them, tying them together. The tiny cut he had made to access the magical plane is shrinking, reality forcing it closed now that the magic holding it open is disappearing, and Rodney slumps against whomever has hold of him. He isn’t surprised when, even after the rip is closed, his magic continues to hold him close.

Through the pain in his body, through the fatigue slowing his thoughts, Rodney realizes he’s found them. His Anchor.

Jennifer hadn’t been a perfect fit. She was afraid of the strength of the magic Rodney used, was discomfited with the spells he created. She was the best Rodney had ever found, notoriously difficult to work with as he was. She wasn’t afraid to call him on his bullshit, got angry when he yelled instead of cried, and was a friend during a time he had few. But this person, whomever it was, had pulled Rodney back from the brink, and that takes a level of compatibility he and Jennifer just couldn’t achieve.

The natural light of the room stabs at his eyes. Rodney turns his face into his Anchor’s chest, breaths deep and smells Aqua Velva. The arms wrapped around Rodney tighten as he burrows closer. The very nature of having an Anchor means a bond exists between them. How else is an Anchor to know when their wizard is slipping away? Rodney uses his magic to poke at this new person, senses a deep strength and intense loyalty. A thread of loneliness, the bright feeling of a sense of humor.

“Hey, buddy,” the person says quietly, and Rodney looks up into amused hazel eyes.

“Hey,” he replies, brow furrowed. “Who are you?”

+++

His name is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard and it is his first day at headquarters. His tour of the building had been interrupted by shouting when he and Jennifer had lost touch, and Sheppard hadn’t hesitated to jump into the fray to try to save Rodney. Rodney was unspeakably grateful, of course, but it also made him wonder what kind of idiot he had tied himself to. Who jumps into a possibly dangerous situation to save a stranger?

“Do you make a habit of this?” Rodney asks from his spot on an infirmary bed, watching as Carson goes about his voodoo.

“Saving lives?” Sheppard asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Doing ridiculously stupid things,” Rodney corrects. “I need to know what I’m getting into.”

Sheppard shrugs and Rodney sighs. He doesn’t have to be connected to Sheppard in order to know the truth of the matter. It just figures Rodney’s Anchor would be one who leaps without thinking.

Rodney takes this opportunity to look his Anchor over while Carson flutters about, noting the spiky hair and slouchy posture, the slim build and full lips and pointy ears. Sheppard isn’t blond, but there’s something about him that makes Rodney want to touch. The fingers on his right hand twitch.

When Carson gives him the all-clear, John and Rodney stand in awkward silence on the side of the infirmary doors. Despite everything, they’re virtual strangers, and Rodney is terrible with people. He isn’t sure what to say, what to do. They should really talk, but where? Rodney’s quarters? Or would that be too personal? Rodney knows some magicians and their Anchors have a sexual relationship - would John think that is what he’s angling for, if Rodney invites him back to his room? Not that Rodney would object - he isn’t blind - but Rodney needs him, doesn’t want to push and risk him storming out.

“Have you eaten?” Sheppard asks finally, leaning fetchingly against the wall.

“Not since this morning, no,” Rodney replies. He certainly isn’t admiring the lines of the man’s torso.

“We should go get something,” Sheppard suggest. He puts his hand on the small of Rodney’s back and gently gets him moving. He doesn’t move his hand.

“But - don’t you want to, to talk about things?” Rodney asks, furrowing his brow. His stomach rumbles in protest.

“Sure,” Sheppard says easily. “But I’m hungry, you’re obviously hungry…”

“Right,” Rodney says. He supposes talking can wait until after the meal.

+++

John Sheppard is a slow eater. He takes careful bites of his food, savoring the taste, before taking another. It could drive Rodney to madness, both because he has already finished his own meal and because watching John Sheppard’s mouth isn’t good for his sanity.

Rodney fills the silence at their table with babble, with rants about his co-workers and boasts about how dangerous and vital his work it. He lets slip the little corner he keeps in his office for the personnel folders of those who have died while working under his command, which he doesn’t dwell on for long. When Rodney begins to falter, he switches over to talking about the technical part of his work, which usually results in the listener’s eyes glazing over. Sheppard’s sharp eyes take it all in, his face unreadable, and it makes Rodney nervous.

He isn’t used to wanting to impress someone.

They don’t discuss where they’re going after. Rodney simply begins to walk back to his quarters, Sheppard at his side, those hazel eyes watching his hands as they move through the air, that pretty mouth quirking when Rodney says something to amuse him. When a group of military grunts turn the corner and head toward them, Sheppard moves close to let them by. Their hands brush together and Rodney shivers. He’s pleased when Sheppard doesn’t move away, remaining instead inside Rodney’s personal space. Rodney makes sure to smile when Sheppard looks at him.

Rodney feels the uncertainty creeping in when the door to his quarters close behind him. He really - he wants - Rodney can’t bring himself to believe that Sheppard would be interested in a chubby magician, this isn’t a fairy tale. People like him don’t usually end up with the dashing hero. But the way Sheppard looks at him, it makes Rodney hope that maybe the relationship with his Anchor won’t be platonic. Rodney’s worked with many people throughout the years who acted as Anchor. Besides his friendship with Jennifer, most of them had remained platonic, professional even. Rodney doesn’t want that with John. He wants to share everything.

“So,” Rodney says, rubbing his thumb and forefinger on his right hand together.

Sheppard looks amused. “So,” he repeats. Rodney thinks the pace of his heat beat is directly related to the amount of silence filling his quarters.

“I just want to say,” Rodney blurts out, “That I would never force you into a relationship you didn’t want. I don’t know if you even want to be my Anchor? I hope you do, I think we’d work well together, but I am well aware that I’m difficult on my best day and impossible on my worst. It might be possible for you to turn down the opportunity to work with me, though you’ll probably never have another chance at working so closely to such genius. You should consider carefully. And, and, there are all kinds of relationships, and we can have whatever one you’d prefer, some people have a sibling relationship with their Anchor. I know you can tell I’m attracted to you, but I can keep my hands to myself -”

“Rodney,” Sheppard says firmly, and Rodney’s jaw snaps shut. He forces his hands down to his sides. “How do you even breathe?”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone talk so much,” Sheppard says, grinning.

“Yes, well, most people don’t have as much to say as I do.” Rodney sniffs.

“Clearly,” Sheppard says, moving closer. His smile slowly fades until there’s just a hint of it in the curve of his lips and he tilts his head. He stares. Rodney can’t bring himself to meet Sheppard’s eyes and instead stares past him, at the window. The sun is shining outside. Rodney wonders about the pollen count and doesn’t at all think about a three o’clock shadow and the marks it’d leave on the inside of his thighs.

“Attracted to me, huh?” Sheppard says quietly. Was he closer than he was before?

Rodney cleared his throat. “Um, yes.” No point in lying.

“I noticed you,” Sheppard confessed. Startled, Rodney’s eyes met Sheppard’s. “I saw you walk by earlier, on the way to your lab.”

“Oh,” Rodney whispers.

“More specifically,” Sheppard continued, “I noticed your ass.”

Rodney felt a smile start at the corner of his mouth. “It’s a very fine ass,” he agrees.

“Mmm,” Sheppard says, finally pressing against Rodney, pushing him back until he’s pressed against the wall. Sheppard puts his  hands on either side of Rodney’s face, boxing him in. Rodney’s breathing speeds up. Sheppard’s lips are warm and wet, his tongue quick and playful. Rodney grabs him by his uniform and pulls him in, pulls him close, and the brush of Sheppard’s erection against his own makes him moan out loud.

“Get on the bed, Rodney,” Sheppard says, and Rodney’s legs go embarrassingly shaky. Sheppard pulls back to let him by, but Rodney doesn’t want to lose contact. He pulls Sheppard along by the front of his uniform shirt and settles on the edge of the bed, Sheppard standing just in front of him. His groin is eye level and Rodney can’t help but lick his lips. It makes his pulse quicken to see Sheppard’s pupils blown out, to see the flush spreading across his face and down his neck.

“Sheppard,” Rodney murmurs, and rests his hands on John’s belt buckle.

Sheppard smiles at him, rubs his thumb across Rodney’s bottom lip.

“I think you better call me John.”

Rodney smiles. He thinks he’s going to get plenty of practice saying that name tonight.

 


End file.
